Erised
by Ides of March
Summary: The Prophecy has been fulfilled, but Harry finds himself left with nothing. But when he finds the Mirror of Erised, he's given an opportunity to claim everything that he's ever dreamed of. How many lives is he willing to sacrifice to get it? THE REWRITE
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: All characters are the property of J.K. Rowling.

Prologue

He didn't know why he did it – why he had to return here of all places. It was little more than a ruin now. The walls were crumbling, the air above his head was full of dark energy, punctured only occasionally by the remnants of the wards that used to cover the castle. He placed a hand on the stone and shuddered.

A deep gash in his leg continued spilling out blood in a steady trickle. He had lost his wand in the battle – it had exploded in a million shards, and the phoenix feather had incinerated and left a hot white burn on his palm. Not that it mattered. His magical reserves were all but depleted.

He limped on slowly.

He felt inexplicably drawn to the place – and something – something indescribable he felt on the edges of his mind called to him. He walked past a row of ruined portraits and the nearly leveled gargoyle that had once guarded Dumbledore's office. The Death Eaters had been here last year and taken what valuables they could find in the Headmaster's office after they had broken the wards and entered the empty school. He climbed over what was left of the gargoyle and trudged up the unmoving circular stairs.

He couldn't help but gasp when he entered the office. Painful memories gripped him, and he could almost see Dumbledore sitting in his desk with his knowing smile on his face. He wondered bitterly if things might have been different if Dumbledore hadn't died – if anyone could have been saved.

A rustling distracted him from his thoughts. He turned around abruptly, ready to draw his wand before remembering that nothing was there.

It was Fawkes. His small body was covered with a fine downy coat. He picked the bird up, and it gave a weak chirp.

What had compelled him to come up here in the first place grew stronger, and he found himself moving, unbidden to a ripped portrait of Dumbledore. He slid his finger across the portrait. The portrait slid open smoothly.

The Mirror of Erised stood in the middle of the hidden chamber. The panes of the mirror had broken and a silvery substance undulated beneath it.

Unbidden, Dumbledore's voice entered his head. _It does not do to dwell on dreams. _

He stepped closer. Fake images flashed across the fragments of the mirror. He saw his parents standing there, smiles on their faces. Sirius stood behind them, younger than he had ever seen him. Remus was there too. And Ron and Hermione were there, with their arms entwined, both with grins on their faces. And...and...Ginny stood off to one side. She glowed gold in the sunlight and the smile on her sweet lips was so wonderful it hurt him to look at it. Her arms were outstretched in front of her.

He closed the distance between them and reached out.

The ground beneath him disappeared.

He fell.

A/N: Yay! I wrote something! This story will slowly be resurrected. Oh yeah, and please review. smiley face


	2. Phoenix Magic

Chapter 1: Phoenix Magic

The first thing he noticed was the smell. He smelled sweet food aromas and the slightly tangy smell of grass and dirt and recent rain and broom polish and a pleasant flowery smell he was sure he had come across before...Harry sighed in contentment and sunk deeper into a thick quilt.

A screech interrupted his peace. "He's awake!" cried the shrill voice.

Harry sighed again, differently this time. He slowly opened his eyes, and was greeted with a blurry mass of red.

"Ooh," said one of the red blurs, "He's got dreamy eyes, hasn't he, George?"

"Quite right," said another identical blur. "Eyes of the dreamiest quality, Fred."

"Green like grass."

"Like fresh pickled toads."

"Like – "

"Shush, you two," said the first figure, "give the poor boy some room. He's obviously been through something horrible what with the nasty gash on his leg and the curse scar on his head."

"He looks a lot like James Potter, doesn't he?" said another hesitant voice. "You know the Potters have been a target of You-Know-Who for ages," it whispered urgently. "He might be a trap for them. He might even be a death eater."

"Nonesense," said the first person. "Look at him – he's just a child!"

"Mrs. Weasley?" Harry said blearily.

The room went completely silent.

"Boys, I think it's best that you leave now," the warmth that Harry had never heard Mrs. Weasley's voice without was missing. Her voice was hard like steel.

Miraculously, Fred and George left quietly without a complaint, and Harry was left alone with Mrs. Weasley again.

"How do you know my name?" asked Mrs. Weasley in the same voice.

Harry was struck with conflicting emotions. Hearing her again – the woman who had given him unconditional love out of no obligation warmed his heart – filled him with a foolish kind of hope – longing for things he knew were long gone. But the tone, the cold words, struck at his heart. He wondered briefly if this was real or whether it was all a dream.

He knew immediately, instinctively that it was real. He could feel familiar magic flowing through the Weasleys, through the air. No dream could replicate life magic.

"How do you know my name?" she asked again.

Harry made no answer.

"Who are you?" asked Mr. Weasley.

It hurt him to hear the distrust in the older man's voice. He swallowed a lump in his throat. He decided to go with the truth. "My name is Harry Potter."

"How...?" asked Mrs. Weasley in a strained voice. "Arthur..."

Mr. Weasley's expression was closed. "_Stupefy_."

Harry's senses instantly went on alert. With the reflexes of a trained duelist, raised his hand and conjured a shield. The stunner reflected off it and knocked a vase on the dresser onto the floor. It shattered with a loud bang.

The protego he had conjured still glowing around him, Harry got out of his bed slowly, ignoring his aching limbs, with his right hand pointed towards the Weasleys.

"You are Arthur and Molly Weasley?"

A slow nod came.

He nodded back. He had already known, really, that they were the Weasleys. Their familiar magic swirling in the air clogged his senses and made him slightly dizzy. They weren't lying, despite all logic pointing to the contrary.

Arthur Weasley stepped forward with his hand outstretched. "I won't harm you, son. I'll – I'll take you to your parents; I'm sure they'll want to know where you've been."

Harry's breath caught in his throat. His _parents_, the Weasleys alive, the subtle but intoxicating sensation of Ginny's magic in the air...He wanted so desperately for it all to be real. Harry reached towards Mr. Weasley.

"_Portus_".

Harry felt the familiar lurch of a portkey behind his navel. He spun forward in the darkness.

He reappeared in a shadowy room, and this time, a quick _stupefy_ subdued him.

OOO

Albus watched as they moved the boy claiming to be Harry Potter from the parlor of Grimmauld Place to a windowless room in the centre of Headquarters. He watched as Arthur cast an _Incarcerous _and strengthened the wards around the room.

The implications of this shook the Headmaster. Few people were aware that the Potters were still alive. They had been hidden with layers of secrecy wards for nearly two decades, to protect the remaining living Potters. And no one – absolutely no one – except for Albus and the Potters themselves knew that there had been a boy named Harry Potter.

The Headmaster had been acting as Lily's Healer when Harry was born. He had held the wailing baby before he stopped breathing inexplicably, the best candidate for the Prophecy child dead. He had been there when the Potters had buried their first child.

Yet there he was. The same messy black hair of the baby were in the grown body, his magic thrumming madly about his body.

Albus stepped forward, clutching a vial of Veritaserum in his hand. He poured three drops in the boy's throat and gently closed the boy's open mouth. "_Ennervate_."

The boy's eyes snapped open, and Albus was immediately taken aback by the shocking emerald green of them – identical to Lily's.

He cleared his throat and asked, "What is your name?"

"Harry James Potter," the boy said in a voice disconcertingly similar to James's.

Albus frowned. That couldn't be true, but he was sure the Veritaserum in the Order stores was working just yesterday.

"Did you not die on July 31, 1980?"

"No."

"Were you born to Lily Evans Potter and James Potter on July 31, 1980?"

"Yes."

"Did your parents attend Hogwarts?"

"Yes."

"Are you a Death Eater?"

"No."

"Do you support Voldemort?"

"No."

"Do you intend any harm against any member of the Order of the Phoenix?"

"No."

"Through what means did you arrive here?"

"I don't know." He paused for a second. "A portkey."

Albus sighed. "He seems to be harmless – and he seems to be who he says he is. Give him the antidote, please."

The boy woke up looking rather disconcerted. "Dumbledore," he croaked out.

Albus nodded.

"I've notified your father of your arrival. I've arranged for him to come here in about an hour."

"He's coming _here_?" His face was pale.

"He is."

"I don't understand what's happening," said the boy, looking down at his hands.

"Let me explain to you what I know about the situation. Harry Potter died precisely one minute after he was born. There has been no indication that he's been alive these last seventeen years. Yet yesterday, a grown boy with Harry Potter's features and a highly curious scar on his forehead arrived here claiming to be him. Veritaserum and a magical core test have both confirmed the claim," Albus said calmly, much more calm than he felt.

"I'm not the one who's supposed to be dead," said the boy quietly. "You're supposed to be dead, the Weasleys are dead, and my parents are most definitely dead."

Albus frowned. "I can assure that I am not dead."

"I know," the boy said. "I can feel it. But it's wrong. It doesn't make sense..."

"It does not, but the fact is, you are here. Perhaps you'd like to recount for me how you appeared in the Weasleys' garden yesterday morning?"

"I don't know!" shouted the boy, frustrated. "I...the Mirror of Erised..."

The Mirror of Erised, as far as Albus knew was in Nicolas Flamel's vault in Gringotts, untouched for over two hundred years.

The boy had a faraway look in his eyes. "I saw the Mirror of Erised – it had a big crack in it – there was this shiny stuff inside of the mirror, like in a Pensieve. Fawkes was with me."

Albus's mind started working rapidly. If Fawkes was involved...he summoned his phoenix with a wave of his hand. "Perhaps Fawkes can shed some light on the situation. He did burst into fire most spectacularly yesterday, even though his burning day was a month away."

Albus watched as Fawkes hopped away from his shoulder and flew to the boy, crooning a soft song, a tear dripping onto the boy's scar.

"I believe we have an answer to our mutual questions," said Albus. "Phoenix magic, when given willingly, holds power beyond any human magic. Phoenixes can move worlds for those they truly love. They can do things far beyond the normal bounds of magic. And with the Mirror of Erised involved, it is possible that Fawkes brought you within your dream."

The boy paused for a moment, and his eyes flickered, before he stroked the phoenix's head gently. "I...thank you, Fawkes." His eyes glowed.

"I can assure you though – this life – this world we have is not a dream. It is very much real. After all, it does not do to dwell on dreams."

A strange expression crossed the boy's face.

"There's a bed in the next room for you and some food and drink, if you're feeling hungry. There is some other business I must attend to."

"Thank you, sir."

"I have only one more question for you, Harry. What time were you born?"

He seemed confused at the question, but answered promptly. "A minute before midnight, sir, on July 31st."

Albus nodded, his heart light.

OOO

"You really believe this kid?" asked James, his mind roiling.

Albus nodded. "You know magical signatures can't be replicated – and the boy did test out under Veritaserum. That being said, I see no reasonable explanation for his presence."

James shook his head violently. "This is insane. This can't be real. The Dark Lord must have done something. If anyone could do it, he could."

"That could very well be true, but I believe the child. He seems sincerely confused. He didn't ask for you or Andrew; he seemed to believe that you were dead. It doesn't fit with the pattern of the Dark Lord's past plans."

"So you just expect me to take on this kid? Expose myself to him? _Love _him?" asked James with a sneer. Images of Lily pounded through his head. Fresh fear and pain erupted at the thought of his wife.

"No one expects that," he answered soothingly. James scoffed at the Headmaster's words. "But imagine, James – imagine what this child could mean for us!"

"What?" He was skeptical.

A slow smile spread over Albus's face. "He could free us all – free you and Andrew."

Faint stirrings of hope arose in James's chest. "How?" he asked again.

"This child – this boy – was born on the last minute before midnight on July 31st to Lily and James Potter. Don't you see what it could mean?"

"Yes," breathed James. He saw himself and Andrew walking in the sunlight without fear.

"He will be a sacrifice for this world."

"Yes."

"Take him in, but stay on your guard. Train him and make him feel like you care about him. Make him crave your acceptance – make the boy let you control him – and you could be free."

"We could all be free," said James slowly, savouring the words.

OOO

Harry sat awkwardly on the bed with his father beside him.

He had wished for this so long, so hard, that now that it was here, Harry had no idea what to do. They had exchanged small talk, and James had given him a loose hug.

He felt like he was about to explode. He wanted to ask James a million questions about his life – he wanted James to ask a million questions about his life. He wanted James to reassure him and tell him that he loved him. He wanted to hear about the Marauders' prank, about James's life with Lily – how had they met? How did they go from hating each other to being married? He wanted so badly to be _normal _and to be loved by a parent.

Now that he was here, though, Harry was acutely aware that he was sitting next to a real person, not some mythical paragon of parenthood, and Harry desperately wanted to make a good impression. He couldn't do a fraction of he wanted to – he didn't want to scare James off and lose his chance to get to know his father.

So they sat there on that bed. Occasionally, Harry glanced over at James shyly, while James stared straight ahead.

James suddenly shifted, and the silence broke abruptly. "I don't know what I thought this would be like, but this isn't it. Now that I'm here it's like –" he paused, "it's just different. I just didn't expect to see you here, so _real_, withyour eyes the way they are – so much like Lily's."

Harry felt oddly touched to hear the words from James. He had heard it so many times from different people, but it was different hearing it from his father.

His father continued in a slurred stream of words. "You know, I never got to see your eyes before you died. I came into the room, and the first thing I saw was Lily with her hair rumpled up on her pillow. You were in her arms. Your little throat made this incredible wail – I saw one of your tiny fists beat against Lily's shirt – and then you were just dead. There was this moment of dead silence, and then – oh God – Lily's face looked like it had just been broken in half. Albus took you away then, tore you from Lily's arms. I never even got to touch your face." He breathed deeply. "There was just this one amazing moment – and then you were gone. It was astounding how fast it happened."

Harry took it in mutely.

"And now you're here – actually here."

"Yeah, I'm actually here," he murmured. Harry suddenly felt compelled to share something personal after what James had revealed. "I feel so scared I can barely breathe. I don't know how much Dumbledore told you, but _you_ should be dead – I should probably be dead too, but we're not. It's so unlikely and so illogical, I can barely wrap my head around the idea. And it's so _good_ – it's so opposite of all the stuff that usually happens to me."

"It's pretty fucking incredible."

And then Harry suddenly felt a lot closer to this man who was his _father_, who _smiled _at him – actually smiled with him with a real mouth and face and real crinkles by his eyes.

"None of this makes sense," said Harry, "but that doesn't matter, does it?"

"No, it doesn't." James squeezed Harry's hand. "This isn't right or perfect, won't be perfect, but it's _real_, and that's enough"

"That's enough," Harry agreed.

"We'll manage," said James, his eyes not focused on Harry. "We'll manage."

OOO

A/N: So lots of stuff happens in this chapter. :) Please share what you think.

I've never really written in third person before, so I'm still kind of uncomfortable writing about this. Tell me what you think of my scene lengths, POVs, dialogue, diction, etc.

Review!


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